Page 24 of Love, Amy

I laugh. “I’m working on it, I promise.” I sniff a little, getting my tears under control before Beck can see them. “Thank you, Genesis. I hope you win the whole damn thing.”

She hums in agreement. “Me, too. I’ve been waiting ten years to win another one.” She gives me a knowing look. “But sometimes the waiting is the best part.”

I smile for her. “I’m sure you’re right. Good luck.” I shake her hand again, thank the umpire, and wave goodbye to the crowd. Beck has already disappeared to wait for me outside the press conference.

I look wistfully at Genesis one more time before heading to meet my end.

*

Beck is so disgusted by my performance that he can hardly speak. “You had her!” He paces back and forth in front of me. All of the reporters and tournament staff have wisely given us the room. Beck’s tantrums are well-known. “You had her, Amy!”

Vince and Rafe wait outside for us in the car. I yearn to run from my father’s anger, but it’s deserved.

“I know,” I say hollowly. “I’m sorry.”

Beck clutches at his head. “You’re sorry?” He practically shouts at me. “I’m the one who’s sorry, Amy. I was convinced you could win a Grand Slam, but maybe I was wrong.”

I try not to engage him. I just look up at his face. “Yeah, maybe you were.”

My listless response stuns him. He can hardly look at me. “Our flight leaves in two days,” he growls. “I expected you to at least make the final, so now we’re stuck here. We only have a month to fix this shit before Wimbledon, Ames. A month. That’s it.”

I nod. “Okay.” I don’t have the energy to say more. He’s right. I might live in this loop forever, the best player to never win the matches she’s supposed to.

Beck wants to say more, but I’ve sucked the air out of the room. He throws his hands up. “Fine. Let’s go.” He stomps towards the exit, towards our waiting ride.

“I’ll be out in a minute,” I tell him. He hesitates, still looking for a fight, but then finally shoves the door open and leaves me behind.

I let out a sigh of relief. I pull out my cell phone before I can think about it too long. It’s like he was waiting for me to call. “Amy.” His voice is tired. I wonder if he’s lying in bed, trying to forget this day ever happened. “Are you okay?”

I lean my head against the wall, close my eyes. “Shit day, huh? For both of us.”

Aurelio is quiet. “Yes, I guess it was.”

I feel better with him on the line. We don’t have to say anything. I know he knows how I feel. I like to believe that I know how he’s feeling, too. It’s strange to know someone, their flaws and failures, and still like everything about them.

“Are you staying in Paris?” I finally ask. “For a day or two?”

“We fly out Monday morning,” he confirms. It’s late now, Saturday inching closer and closer to Sunday.

“Do you want to do something?” I say before I can think too hard about it. “Together?”

“Tomorrow?” I can almost hear Aurelio’s shock through the phone, though he tries to hide it. Then, I hear his smile. “I would love to, Amy.”

I smile, too. It’s a wistful one, unused to my face. “Good.”

“Sleep well, bellissima.” His voice sounds sleepy and warm on the phone.

“You, too,” I tell him. I hesitate for a beat, not quite ready to hang up. “Aurelio?”

“Yes?”

“We’ll kick their asses next time. I promise.” It doesn’t sound like me. A Bowman doesn’t live in optimism. But I know Aurelio does, so I give it a try.

My seriousness breaks Aurelio. I hang up the phone to his beautiful laughter.

CHAPTER 11

Roland Garros: May 2026